


I Just Want Your Heart

by PaleNoFace



Series: Undying Love [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anyway back to the tags, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, HIT ME WITH YOUR CAR, Heavy Angst, Hurt Lance (Voltron), It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Character Undeath, Maybe - Freeform, Search for a Cure, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, The Author Regrets Everything, They're Not Okay But They're Trying, broganes, fuckin end me, klangst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-09-05 09:23:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16807843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleNoFace/pseuds/PaleNoFace
Summary: "Lance wanted to say no, but then he would have to explain. He would have to tell Coran that when he was alone, by himself, without anything to occupy his hands or his mind, he would start thinking and remembering, and if by miracle he found any sleep, there would only be nightmares waiting for him. And he would have nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.So no, he couldn't explain that to Coran. Or anyone, for that matter. So instead he smiled, nodded and left the barn, but with no intention of sleeping anytime soon."Lance believes that avoiding a problem will eventually make it disappear. Everyone strongly disagrees.





	1. Chapter 1

Lance wasn't fond of refueling trips. To be honest, he wasn't fond of the concept of apocalypse in general, but he specifically didn't like the idea of having road-trips for weeks in order to find months-old food. And, sure, he knew they would be completely starving without those raids, and he knew that Hunk could make something great out of the less appetizing stuff, but it didn't stop him from hating the constant fear twisting uncomfortably in his guts.

But here he was, at the back of a military truck, his shotgun firmly pressed against his chest, as the vehicle tried his best to send him tumble on Shiro's lap.

Shiro, fuck. The man hated getting out of the camp even more than Lance. It was obvious in the way he hold himself, all tense and focused ; his face was crunched up from the excessive attention he payed to the road, and every now and then a flash of pain even crossed his eyes. Lance shifted uncomfortably, gently hitting the end of the man's boot with his own.

"Shiro, you still with me ?"

The older survivor blinked, as if he just came back to his body and realized that Lance was still here.

"Sorry, yeah, I'm here. Just- Memories, you know."

Lance hummed in agreement, glancing at the ravaged neighborhood they where going through. They went to school here together, introduced each-other to their respectives acquaintances and eventually built up a team of close-knitted friends. Hell, after a while he even-

Lance shuddered. Yeah, nope, not going down memory lane right now. He had a job to do. He could cry all he wanted later, alone in his room, behind the relative safety of anti-zombie barricades.

"Guys," Veronica called from the driver's seat. "We're approaching our destination, get ready."

Next to her, Rolo turned to look at them.

"In and out," he reminded them. "Easy. The area should be clean, but if you encounter resistance..."  
"...Don't attack by yourself," Lance mumbled, Shiro nodding along in front of him.  
"We keep in touch," the latter added, waving his walkie-talkie before jumping down the truck as it slowed down to a stop.

Lance followed him a second later, but instead of heading for the old store he went around the vehicle and knocked on the driver's door. Veronica passed her head through the window and held out a hand.

"Be careful, okay ?" she said, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

He frowned and opened his mouth to snap back, but Rolo was faster.

"Lance, come on ! Supplies won't gather by themselves."  
"See ya, Ronnie," Lance told his sister before heading inside.

*°*°*°

He found Shiro standing in front of what should have been the canned food section at some point, looking incredibly lost.

"What's up with you today ?" Lance said, brushing past him to dig into the pile of crap on the bottom shelf.  
"Do you ever miss him ?" Shiro said bluntly.

Lance almost dropped his tin can. He really felt like crying, all of sudden, but he had no time for this. _They_ had no time for this. So he strengthened the hold on the cool metal, took in a couple of steady breaths and stubbornly gritted his teeth.

"Give me a hand with that stuff. And the good one, if possible."

*°*°*°

They saw a zombie on their way back. It was slow and barely looked up when they passed it with the car, but Lance still cocked his gun. Shiro put a hand on the cannon and pushed it back down with a slight shake of his head.

"Not worth it," he explained when he was met with confusion. "You might need this bullet later."

Lance grunted but lowered his weapon. Shiro was right. Each bullet was a small reprieve, an ace up his sleeve he could need at all times. It wasn't worth it. It wouldn't even relieve him all that much, anyway.

*°*°*°

"Everything fine ?" Hunk asked as Lance dropped two of the bags on the kitchen table.  
"As fine as it can be out there."

Hunk hummed in agreement and started to put away the food. Lance immediately looked for something else to do with his hands. He didn't like to stay aimless for too long, because when he did he started thinking and it never went well.

"I'm going to go see Pidge. Do you want me to bring her something ?"

Hunk, completely absorbed by what he was doing, simply pointed at a glass bottle and a can of baked bean, muttering to himself all along about rations and soups. Lance left him to it, grabbed the food and headed back out. He didn't catch the way his best friend glanced at him worriedly from above his shoulder.

*°*°*°

The farmhouse was big, with tall, solid stone walls all around the property and easily defensible entrances. It was probably the reason why people chose it to be a shelter in the first place. But they were a lot of people in there - almost fifty persons huddled together day and night. Not that Lance minded, not really. He liked being surrounded by friends and family, and that's what they were since he learned to appreciate everyone during the six first months of the Apocalypse. Yes, even Lotor. Turned out the man was pretty finical when it came to equality, and Lance could respect him for that.

The problem was feeding everyone. They decided from the start to use every surface available to plant stuff and produce food, but it never seemed enough. That was why raids where so importants. That's why Lance insisted on going out, day after day after day, so the people he cared about didn't starve to death.

Okay, maybe it was not the only reason. But the other one was nobody's business. And it was dumb anyway, so he refused to even acknowledge it.

He eventually made his way to the water tank, on top of which the radio station had been installed. He carefully climbed the rusty ladder, trying not to hit the water bottle, and quietly made his way to his friend, who was broadcasting aggressively in the hope of recruiting other survivors.

Pidge was still hoping. Lance desperately wanted to stop hoping. It was dumb. There was nothing left to save.

"Hey, Pidgeon, how long have you been here ?"

Pidge looked up from her screen, eyes bloodshot and circled in dark purple from too many sleepless nights. She gladly accepted the bottle, drinking half of it in one shot, them made grabby hands for the food before even speaking a word. Lance didn't mind. As long as she was fed and hydrated, nothing else was really important.

"I contacted a group, today," she said at some point around a mouthful of cold beans and tomato sauce. "They're three days away from here. Said they wouldn't stay, but they have stuff to trade."  
"Yeah ?" Lance perked up. "Have you told Coran ?"  
"Not yet. I wanted to know what they were ready to put on the table."  
"...And ?"  
"Pass me the water. Hm. Thanks. So, hum, they said they had a lot of mechanical tools they were ready to exchange for bandages and stuff. Talked about a broken prosthesis, too. If I can fix it, Shiro could have two fully functional hands again. Or I could finally do something about your legs."  
"That's great news," Lance smiled. "I can go tell Coran for you if you want ?"  
"Why not," she shrugged, before clearing her throat. "But, hum, Lance."  
"Yeah ?"  
"I'm not good at this," she grumbled and pinched the bridge of her nose, pushing her glasses up her forehead. "But Hunk is very worried about you. And so am I. So is everyone."

She vaguely motioned at the busy crowd buzzing under them before looking back at him. He didn't like that look. He didn't like the way pity was inexorably creeping in her tired eyes.

"Pidge-"  
"It was a hard blow, okay, for the whole community. And I know you have it rough, but-"  
"Don't do this."  
"- _you can talk to us_ , Lance," she raised her voice to cover his protests. "You don't have to pretend and stay strong for our sake or whatever it is you're trying to do, okay, we're here for you if you would just talk to us and not try to internalize everything-"  
" _Stop !_ " he yelled. "Please, just- Stop talking."  
"Dude, come on, this is getting ridiculous. Veronica is scared that one day you won't have your head in the game and get yourself hurt."  
"Maybe you should focus on Shiro then," he glared at her, crossing his arms.  
"This is not about Shiro, this is about you," she glowered back.  
"I'm fine. I'm doing great, okay ! Just peachy. Him ? Not so much. He keeps spacing out. Maybe you should care about him instead. So. Yeah. I'm going to Coran."

And with that, he climbed down the ladder, disappearing in the group before his friend could even try to stop him.

*°*°*°

He found the man he was looking for in the old barn, pedaling on the dynamo while reading what looked like a dictionary - Lance had seen him do way stranger things, so he didn't think too much about it. There were a lot of things Lance didn't want to think too much about, these days.

"Ah, Lance, my boy !" Coran greeted, although he didn't stop charging electricity. "How did the trip go ?"  
"It was good, Coran. We found a lot of canned stuff. Some flour, too."  
"Good, good. Maybe Hunk will finally be able to do the bread he's been talking about."  
"Hunk's bread is a blessing of the Gods," Lance chuckled. "Pidge wants you to know that she made contact with a group willing to trade. They should be there in three days or so."  
"Excellent news," Coran approved, twisting his glorious mustache. "Hopefully they will have something for the roof."  
"It's leaking again ?"  
"Yes, but don't worry. Axca and Narti said they would take a look at it."  
"Okay. Then I'll... I guess I'll just go around and see if anyone needs anything."  
"Lance, why don't you go take some rest instead ? You helped plenty today, you deserve a nap."

Lance wanted to say no, but then he would have to explain. He would have to tell Coran that when he was alone, by himself, without anything to occupy his hands or his mind, he would start thinking and remembering, and if by miracle he found any sleep, there would only be nightmares waiting for him. And he would have nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. So no, he couldn't explain that to Coran. Or anyone, for that matter. So instead he smiled, nodded and left the barn, but with no intention of sleeping anytime soon.


	2. Chapter 2

The hunger. The hunger was everything, everywhere around him, _in_ him. It felt like it had no limits in space and time. There was nothing left but the constant growl of his stomach and his mouth watering each time he smelled one of them.

He'd been following the group for days, at his own pace, not too worried by losing sight of his preys. They smelled strong enough for him to track them without trouble. Obviously, others like him followed, slumping messily around him as they all made their way in the same direction.

He knew he could go faster, leave them behind if he wanted, but it would need a lot of energy he didn't have right now. It was hard enough to find anyone alive out there ; he couldn't take the risk of running out of juice right before a hunt. So he took his time, travelling across the desolated land in the middle of a mismatched group of rotting corpses.

He knew he would get what he wanted eventually.

*°*°*

Lance didn't know what he wanted. A large part of him wanted to go to bed, crash onto the mattress for twelve hours straight and forget everything, but another part, way less rational and more scared of nightmares, refused to let him rest. He could be helping outside, after all, because there was always a few people up ready to put him to work, but he knew he would get hurt or fuck up something inevitably.

Or he could clean himself. That was actually a good idea. A shower sounded divine right now, the idea of relaxing his body under a spray of lukewarm water and getting rid of weeks of dirt leading him in the basement where the individual showers were.

Slowly, carefully, he pealed his coat off his back, got rid of his shirt, untied his belt, pulled off his shoes. He sat in the corner and he fought a little with the straps of his prosthetics, leaving the two legs on the side as he pulled himself inside a cabin to the strength of his arms.

The water turned colder than expected, but Lance wasn't complaining. Water was water, and he felt already a little better. The dirty water trickled down the drain, taking away dust and soap bubbles and sweat and blood and the general filth he accumulated outside. The smell of the block of soap made his nose turn up, too chemical for his liking, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he would be back to his natural scent, one adapted to his environment.

He took his time to dry himself, making the inventory of his old and new scars, fingers ghosting over fresh marks on his skin. He had to dress himself at some point, the air becoming too chilly for him to just sit around in a frowzy towel, so he grabbed his clean clothes and passed them on before reaching for his legs.

He came back to his room barefoot - not that he could feel the gravel, anyway - dropping his dirty laundry in the basket by the door and the battered pair of shoes next to it. And suddenly finding himself at a loss of what to do.

Lance stood there for a while, completely frozen, as if the slightest movement would disturb the quiet of the night. His guts twisted unpleasantly, the usual paranoia coming to whisper in his ear that there was something in the shadows, just waiting for him to move to jump at his throat.

But a flashlight passed on his window for a split second, illuminating the room and chasing away the darkness and its monsters. And Lance felt himself breathe again. Crisis avoided.

He reached the bed and sat, fingers drumming against the cold metal of the frame. In another time, in another life, he would have appreciated the starry, silent night, but now ? It's was just plain creepy. Too quiet. Too still.

There were the voices, of course. The quiet chat of his friends and family behind the walls, the muffled calls from the watchers outside, but most of all the ones screaming in his head. Tonight they were acting quite tame, barely whispers in the back of his mind, but there were here. He knew they would always be there.

*°*°*

There was this itch that he couldn't quite scratch. It was like anticipation buzzing under his skin, making him acutely aware of the sounds around him.

He lost the rest of the pack at some point. It didn't matter, really, it would even be easier to sneak past the travelling group without a horde of growling corpses behind him. He was a growling corpse himself, but he could manage to stay quiet if he needed to. He wasn't some kind of animal, after all.

The track led him near a seemingly empty building, from where escaped grunts of effort from time to time. He almost rolled his eyes : if they really wanted to be discreet, making so much noise was really not the best idea. He came closer, peering through one of the broken windows.

They were six adults and three children, breaking down the stairs methodically. _Shit_. He wouldn't be able to get to them tonight, which meant he would have to stick around and wait until they got back down in the morning. He gracelessly collapsed on the ground, lying there in the rubble, and closed his eyes with a grunt.

... Zombies didn't dream. That one the one thing he was still sure about, that and the fact that satisfying his hunger was the most important. He was basically braindead, how could he pretend to see things when he closed his eyes ?

It wasn't things, really, more like patches of color associated with memories and emotions from another age. There was bright blue that brought joy, and soft brown that brought warmth. There was gold, and pink, and white and green and purple and more white and laughs, soft touches and regular heartbeats, there was red spilling and brown turning dead and white turning sick, there was blue fading and slowly becoming black and-

Keith reached out by reflex.

It took him a moment to understand that it wasn't real. That, whatever it was, or had been, it wasn't something possible anymore.

The dream faded in the back of his mind, so fast that he couldn't remember what it was about in the first place, erasing itself every time he reached for it, shirking away from his grasp. He let it go. No more colors and soft feelings. Only cold ground and hunger. He couldn't pretend to anything more, anyway.

Above his head, the sky turned a paler shade of blue, with a hint of pink. The sun would be out soon, and the prey would go back to their journey and he would be just behind, following in the distance and waiting for the perfect opportunity.

*°*°*

Lance woke up with a start. Automatically, his hand searched for his shotgun. When he couldn't reach it, he blinked, trying to understand where he was.

Allura stared back at him, her hand still against the door where she'd been knocking.

"Good morning," she greeted, as if it was perfectly normal to see him half-sprawled on the ground.  
"...Morning," he grumbled, rolling out of the sweat-drenched sheets. "What brings you up to my room this early ?" he grinned in her direction while he changed shirt. "Missed me ?"

Allura only looked sternly at him.

"It's two in the afternoon, Lance," she said with her sharp British accent twisting his name a little.

He grimaced.

"I took a... depression nap ?" he tried, earning a incredulous huff.  
"For twenty hours ?"  
"You know how it is," he shrugged and tried to pass by her, but she stood firmly on the ground and crossed her arms in defiance.  
"No, I don't know how it is. Nobody knows how it is, because you don't talk to us."  
"Wait, is this an intervention ?" he squeaked, eyeing his window and wondering if it would hurt really that much to fall from the third floor.

Allura shook her head and her arms dropped by her side with her hard stare. She looked sad, all of sudden, and young. Lance sometimes forgot that she was barely older than him. Sometimes he forgot that most people in the camp were still kids.

"It will be an intervention if you need one. But honestly ? I just want us to sit for a while and... I don't know. See if I can help."

When he didn't move, she sat at the end of the bed and pat the spot next to her.

"Please ?" she asked.

Lance was weak for Allura, it wasn't a secret. She had the kind of aura that drew him like a moth and the type of strong character he liked in people ; she was strong and independent, just like he aspired to be.

But most of all, what they had was strong because she knew what he was like at his lowest, and he was there when she needed someone. What they had was strong because there was nothing unspoken of, no secrets between them. What they had was strong because they knew they would be there for each other, no matter how much the world burned.

In another time, in another life, he would have probably loved her romantically. Except that he didn't, because his heart was still shattered and lying somewhere he couldn't go to take it back. He didn't, because there was still this stupid spark of hope inside of him that he kept trying to suffocate but refused to die.

He didn't, because he was weak, and unable to get over the simple fact that, yes, a zombie apocalypse usually took away loved ones.

And he knew that Allura could wait for him, if he wanted, he knew she would still be there once he accepted the fact that the dead couldn't come back, no matter how hard he wanted it to. And even if she grew tired to wait for too long and settled with someone, she would still be there, in the background, for him, with him, because without her, without his crutch, he would fall and probably never get up again.

Except... Except he wasn't sure he wanted to move on. There was a weird reassurance in wallowing in his own mourning, like cradling in his arms the ghost of something lost forever, despite knowing full well it was gone for good.

Stupid, stupid spark of hope.

"No thank you," he told Allura with a bright, almost-not-forced smile, and winked at her on his way to the door. "I'm fine. I'm gonna go help Axca with the roof."

He ran away before she could try to stop him.

*°*°*

The group left a few hours after he woke up.

He'd been pacing around in the ruins of an empty supermarket. It smelled good there, too : someone alive passed by the day before. Maybe more than one. The track was a little cold, so he didn't try to follow it instead. He went back to the other building just in time to see two of the children, hand in hand, climbing down the ravaged stairs.

He ignored the painful squeeze in his chest and hid behind a wall, waiting for them to take a head start so they wouldn't notice him right away. He didn't know how long he would have to wait until he could sink his teeth is soft, warm flesh, but he learned to be patient.

*°*°*

On his way to the main building, Lance met probably half of the camp : Marco and Rolo were talking excitedly with Hunk, Pidge was making lists and lists and lists with Nyma's help, Coran was running left and right followed by a wheezing James, a bored Lotor and a very enthusiastic Rachel, his mom appeared every two windows to shake sheets and towels, Ryan and Nadia were working at the forge with Hunk's dad and Matt... He almost ran into Sam who was sipping on a mug of coffee while reading a bunch of papers - luckily, the coffee didn't spill.

He knew Zethrid, Ezor and Ina were the one doing the raids for the next two days, so he wasn't surprised not to find them with Acxa and Narti, who were examining a hole the size of a tennis ball between the tiles of the roof. He took a second to compose himself a relaxed mask before stepping in the room.

"Hello ladies," he hummed, earning a couple of grunts in response. "I'm here to provide a few more hands.

Narti turned her blind eyes on him for a moment, eventually going back to fix them pointlessly on the ceiling. Lance wondered what she could see of him.

"Do you mind grabbing the ladder ?" Axca asked him, unfolding a tarpaulin.

It took him several minutes to locate the item, and when he came back he and Narti held it in place for Axca to climb safely and nail down the plastic sheet.

"Okay," she said, rubbing her hands together, "Narti, can you grab the plank on your left ? No- your other left. Yeah, that one."

They nailed it down too, before exiting the farm to fix the outside. Everyone was out by then, activity bursting everywhere as people took care of the plants and tools and food and cars. For a second, everything seemed normal. Like the Apocalypse was never a thing to begin with.

But then, Luis shot something from behind the barricades and Lance came back to Earth. Of course the Apocalypse was a thing. It wasn't just an event, either : it was a state of mind, a style of life so deeply thrust in them that they couldn't go back to... whatever "normal" meant anymore.

He finished to fix the roof with the two women, went back to him room to take his gun and take a round on the ramparts. It wasn't after another couple of hours that Hunk came to him, accompanied by Pidge, and the three of them ate in relative silence, sharing every now and them the news circulating in the camp.

Pidge told them that the group coming to meet them would be there the next day, around noon, since they didn't get too much trouble on the road. Hunk told them that there had been a couple of zombies trying to force their way inside last night, but that he shot them down. Lance told them that the roof was fixed and that no one should be rained on now, not that it rained a lot in the past few months anyway.

Maybe that was normal.

*°*°*

He still had the other group's smell up his nose. Not that it was really annoying or anything, but it didn't help focus on his task at hand, which was determine a target. One of the children would be ideal since he wasn't feeling on top of his form, but he avoided eating those because then there would be no more humans to hunt. The adults were all holding guns, though, and the biggest, a middle-aged man with sandy hair, even had a large knife at his side.

His choice finally settled on the oldest of the kids, an adolescent with ginger hairand a nasty burn on the left cheek. His stomach rumbled quietly at the idea of having such a large prey for himself. He would make sure to eat everything, not letting him any chance to turn into another monster.

Now all he needed to do was wait until the boy would be alone, or at least distracted enough.

*°*°*

The humans started to get exited, he noted the next day, watching one of the adults almost run ahead without any apparent reason. The woman came back after a few minutes to tell something to the rest of the group, and if he was too far to understand anything, he saw how their faces brightened and how fast they gathered their stuff.

A thought hit him : maybe they were trying to join another group. It was good, in a sense, because it would be a lot easier to make someone disappear from a larger group that this one, but at the same time it meant a lot more weapons against him. Maybe ditching the horde wasn't such a good idea, after all.

The thing being, he was already too far gone in this hunt to back off now. The hunger made itself known again and he needed to appease it.

*°*°*

The more they progressed, the slower he got. He was ravenous, ready to chomp on this pretty little head at any moment, but the boy didn't make a single step on the side, securely holding the hand of the tallest man of the group.

Fortunately, a couple other zombies finally joined him in the party. The one on his left was making weird snappy sounds with his mouth, and the one on his right was missing an eye. Ew. Despite everything, it was still more confortable than finding himself alone in front of a probably increasing number of humans.

He didn't notice the walls, at first, being so focused on his prey. The scent of the other group, the one from the supermarket, made itself more present and invasive. But then the base was all blocking the horizon, like a massive chunk of metal in the middle of the dry desertic land.

And he knew that if he wanted to eat, he had to act about right now.

He let out a sharp cry and his two companions of misfortune began to sprint.

*°*°*

Lance was the first to notice them. He did a double take with his rifle, just to be sure, before loooking above his shoulder and screaming at Veronica, who was sitting around :

"Visitors coming up at nine !"

She nodded and disappeared inside the barn where Coran was probably still pedaling and Lance went back to look at the group. They were nine : a very tall guy with long brown hair ; a shorter one with glasses ; a blond lady that looked very tired : a chubby blond man, holding by the hand two twin girls ; a young woman with a big backpack ; another one with dark skin and vertigo ; an adolescent with red hair.

It took them a while to reach the door, all along under Lance's careful supervision. And maybe, if he hadn't been the one looking, maybe something horrible would have happened. Maybe the two little girls would have been bathing in their own blood with their guts out. Maybe the very tall man would have been beheaded.

But Lance saw the small group of zombies running in their direction. He noticed how some where running, other following with great difficulty, probably starved to death - _hah_.

He readjusted his grip on his rifle and pointed at the closest one. His hand firm, his stand grounded. Unshaking. He pulled the trigger. The walking corpse shrieked in its fall, at what the other responded by more violent screams.

They were six, seven max. One was already down. He aimed for the next one. It was a freshly bitten, still looking like a pretty blonde girl who somehow got her arm ripped off. He shot. Her cry echoed to his ears. The next one got a bullet in the head. The next one-

Lance missed his shot and almost dropped his gun.

"Hunk, cover me, I'm going down to clean !" he called his best friend who immediately grabbed his own shotgun, but looking completely confused.  
"What ? Lance, what are you doing ?!"  
"Sparing ammunition," Lance explained, taking one of the hunting knives laying on a track. "There are only a few left, I can take them the old fashioned way, I need you to cover me in case they're more numerous."  
"Okay," Hunk nodded and armed his gun. "Be careful."  
Rolo opened the door as soon as Lance got close. They exchanged a look that meant a lot but not enough, and Lance took off. He had to drown out the spark once and for all.

*°*°*

Turned out he walked a lot slower with a bullet lodged in the thigh. He fell behind the rest of his group, much to his disarray. There was no other gunshots after the one that got him. He had no idea if it was a good or a bad thing.

His foot stuck itself in a hole and almost ended him with his face in the ground. He grunted and looked up. From where he was, he couldn't see the cam, and the camp probably couldn't see him either. The choice of stopping for a moment to take the bullet out was pretty clear : he wouldn't go much further limping like a rotten.

He pulled his foot out of the hole and sat up, glaring at the bullet wound like it personally offended him. And in a sense, it did.

Pale fingers with broken nails dug into the gash and brushed against the little piece of metal. If he had been alive, the whole process would probably have been a lot painful. But again, if he had been alive he wouldn't be shot in the first place. With a small scream of triumph he held it out, letting the dark blood dripping from his hand and leg. The sun of early afternoon caught the edge of it, making it shine between his fingers.

He suddenly heard loud heartbeats. The smell of something warming coming his way, something... it tickled his memory, like it was something he was supposed to remember. But it smelled good, it smelled warm, and he was hungry.

Keith looked up and saw brown and blue.

*°*°*

It wasn't possible. This shouldn't happen. It wasn't allowed to happen.

But this, this right there, that zombie with sickening greyish skin and unkept, dirty raven hair, with a bite mark on his bicep, with hungry purple eyes ?

This was happening. And the spark turned into a wild fire.


	3. Chapter 3

They stood frozen. Him in the hollow where he fell, the human standing above him with a hunting knife in hand. A human in brown and blue that felt like home. But zombies didn't have a home. This was a concept for alive people, not undead, walking bodies. He had to remind himself that there was a difference.

With a groan, he took a step back, eyeing the glint of the knife. He was agonizingly slow, damned be the hunger, and it took him a few tries to get out of the hole. He looked at the man once again. Yeah, this one definitely wasn't for eating.

There was something ancient in his head, an old memory brushing the edge of his consciousness, like seeing an old friend for the first time. He exhaled loudly, hoping to scare him off so the weird feeling would stop, but the other just flinched and pointed the knife in his direction. He blinked. He knew that knife.

It didn't matter. If that weapon went close enough, it would hurt him. He stepped further away, putting some distance between the two of them. But then, the man screamed, panic in his voice.

"Wait !"

*°*°*

This was stupid, Lance was so stupid, he was going to die, this was the day he left this world for good but _he had to know, he had to be sure_ -

"Keith !" he called again, desperation breaking his voice.

The zombie stopped walking. It had to mean something, right ? There had to be something left of him inside the decaying body.

"Keith," Lance repeated, and the walking dead turned to look at him, a weird glint in his eyes, almost like... hesitance.

His heart jumped a little. There was the crazy hope that he could fix it, fix everything, because Keith wasn't attacking. The zombie in front of his wasn't attacking, so it was good, right ? It had to mean something. Lance would die if it wasn't the case.

*°*°*

The name resonated in him. He knew it, it knew it was supposed to mean something to him. It was his name, wasn't it ? It had been a while since anyone pronounced it, and it felt foreign, distorted. Like he wasn't Keith anymore. Or at least, not completely.

This guy... wasn't a suitable prey. There was something about him that just didn't put him in this category, at least in his book. Therefore, there was no point for him to stand there. His original target had disappeared inside the walls, out of reach, and the rest of the horde had been completely eliminated. Dammit. There was nothing left for him there. 

He strolled away, indifferent to the calls, forgetting about the guy standing there screaming his name.

He wasn't Keith. Hadn't been in a long time.

*°*°*

Lance could hear his own heart shatter. His legs wouldn't move, no matter how hard he tried to follow Ke- follow the zombie. He wanted to listen to the spark so badly, but it was pure madness to adventure himself further in the lands without his gun or supplies.

But at the same time, this was probably the last time he would have such an opportunity. What if he walked away before Lance could stop him ? He would never see him again.

*°*°*

Footsteps behind him as he entered an empty warehouse. Fuck no. Being followed was really the last thing he needed right now. He turned around and growled a warning. The brown and blue man was standing there, knife still clutched in his fist, a few meters behind.

Okay, this was totally unfair. Just because he didn't eat him didn't mean that it was an open door to stab him in the back. He screeched, hoping to scare him away, send him back to the base he belonged, but the other just took another step closer. This was getting dangerous.

*°*°*

Lance had no idea why he was insisting so much, but Keith -let's call a cat a cat, this _was_ Keith- wasn't attacking. Objectively, it was odd, because he was clearly turned, and zombies always attacked anything with a pulse. And Lance had a pulse ! Maybe if he could just- touch him, or something, make sure he was real...

"Keith, come on, man, I don't want to hurt you," he promised, clearly putting away the knife, showing his empty hands. "It's me. It's just- It's just me."

*°*°*

The voice, too, was familiar. Buried under weeks and months of dusty memories, there was the weird feeling of knowing these inflexions, and knowing how this voice would sound in a laugh.

He hated this, he hated that everything was just at his fingertips, just out of touch, and feeling that it was important, that he should remember who this guy was, god fucking dammit, he was important-

*°*°*

Lance approached a gloved hand, very, very slowly. Keith didn't move, apparently stuck in his own mind - did zombies even think ? Was it physically possible ?

*°*°*

He saw a hand coming close. Too close. He hissed a few times, but clearly without effect. He squeezed his eyes shut. This was the end. He couldn't fight back. This was where he died for real.

*°*°*

Lance almost laughed at Keith's crunched up face. Almost. His hand reached its goal.

*°*°*

Something touched his fingers. Something warm, with a pulse, but that wasn't prey. A memory old as time itself snaked in his dead brain.

*°*°*

Lance locked his hand around Keith's and interweaved their fingers together. It was cold under his palm, but full. There was flesh on these bones, not much, but just enough to still feel almost alive. The wildfire in his heart roared.

Keith wasn't moving, looking like a grey statue in the middle of a destroyed barn. No sign of aggressiveness. So he decided, fuck it, and hugged him.

*°*°*

Lance. His name was Lance.

*°*°*

This was incredibly cold, and uncomfortable, because obviously Keith wouldn't hug back, Keith was a freaking walking corpse, after all, but Lance felt like crying all the same.

Even in his wildest dreams, he didn't imagine being able to see him, even less to hug him. Hold him close again. Maybe they would finally have the closure they deserved. Keith shifted a little, and a cold hand crept awkwardly up his back and squeezed him, weakly.

Now Lance was definitively crying.

*°*°*

What the fuck was he doing. Why was he being hugged. Why was he hugging back. What. _Why_. It wasn't safe. Wasn't safe to be here, to remember. He had to get away. He opened his mouth, trying to free his lips from the crook of neck where they were pressed, if only he could make a sound-

*°*°*

"Lance ? _Lance !_ "

Lance looked up by reflex at the sound of Shiro's voice, just in time to see a knife fly. And hit Keith right in the face.

The dead man let out a hoarse scream, letting go of him and tumbling backward, the blade clattering on the ground.

"No !" Lance cried by reflex, his fist tightening around the threadbare red shirt, keeping Keith precariously on his feet.

The zombie was exhaling hard, a hand clasped on his jaw where the knife had sliced without breaking through, dark blood spilling between his fingers.

"Lance step away from it, right now !" Shiro's voice boomed.  
"No, Shiro wait, it's-"  
"It's not him anymore ! Are you completely mad ?!" the other replied, already charging a gun. "He's dead, you have to understand that ! This," he added, pointing at Keith, "is a menace."  
"Shiro, listen to me !"

And maybe it was because of the tears in his eyes, or because his voice was the loudest, or maybe just the fact that there was a zombie using him as shield, but the older survivor shut his mouth. His gun, however, didn't move.

"He doesn't attack."  
"What."  
"I know he's- We both know he's dead. And this- It's not him, or at least not anymore. But he's something, right ? It must be a good sign if he's not attacking me, right ? We have to get him back to camp, maybe Coran and Sam can help him, maybe they can bring him back-"  
"No !" Shiro shouted, and Lance realized for the first time just how pained his friend was. "I can't- I can't do this again. I can't get my hopes up and then just watch it all crash and burn. I... I'm not strong enough," he whispered, adverting his eyes from the pale figure hiding behind Lance.

He looked so old, suddenly, like he gained twenty years in the blink of an eye.

"It's too hard. I can't mourn him all over again."

Keith's gripped the back of Lance's jacket and didn't let go. And Lance knew that between hope and craziness, the line was very thin and blury, but he was willing to cross it a few more times if it meant fixing things.

"It hurts looking at him in this state," Shiro continued, gesturing at the zombie. "Just look at him. He's too far gone. We have to stop him."  
"No," Lance shook his head determinedly. "If there is the smallest chance to have him back, I'm taking it."

Shiro seemed like he was about to say something else, but it turned into a broken laugh as he dropped his gun to hide his face in his hand.

"God," he whispered, "Everyone was right."  
"...What ?"  
"You actually wished this, didn't you ? You hoped he would still be out there," he smiled, so painful and sad and _raw_ , "you can't give him up, can you ? You realize how dangerous your behavior is, to yourself, to everyone ?"  
"Takashi, what the _fuck_ are you saying ?" Lance hissed.  
"You know what, whatever. Fuck it. Fuck everything," the other sighed, lowering his gun. "If we can work something out, good. If it turns out he's dangerous or if you're getting too deep in this, I'll put him down."  
"You'll shoot your own brother ?!"  
"This is not my brother," Shiro replied. "Hasn't been in a long while."  
"Shiro-"  
"Save it. Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro is traumatized enough. He needs to distance himself from it all.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave kudos and comments ! <3


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